


John Can be Kind of Scary

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A quick wank, April Fools' Day, BAMF John, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Fluff, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Non-Explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg gets turned on by seeing John tell Mycroft and Sherlock off. Because no one was ever able to do that before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Can be Kind of Scary

Mycroft grabbed his brother by the sleeve. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It's April 1st, isn't it what you're supposed to do?”

“I guess… but John can be kind of scary when he wants to be.”

“So says the brother that kidnapped the man. Don't tell me you're afraid of him now.”

Mycroft snorted. “I'm not afraid, precisely. Let's just say I have developed a healthy respect for him.”

“Mycie's afraid,” Sherlock taunted.

Mycroft went to punch him and Sherlock ducked out of the way.

“Mycie is scared of a doctor!”

This time Mycroft gave chase, they were lucky that they were in the back garden of their parents' estate and not in London in the middle of a street because Sherlock was pretty sure Mycroft would still have started chasing him. That would have most definitely ruined both of their public images.

Sherlock's breath went out of him in a rush as he was tackled to the ground. Mycroft took advantage of the fact and twisted his brother's arm up behind him. “Take it back, 'Lock.”

“What?”

His brother used his other hand to push his face into the ground. Sherlock released a surprised grunt.

“Take what back?” the younger man choked out.

A slight squeeze. “You know what.”

“Okay, okay,” he was getting incredibly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry.”

“Say that again.”

“Huh?”

“Very elegant, brother mine, but I'm the British Government, I deserve some respect. So say it again. Politely,” he added.

Sherlock wriggled, trying to get away, but to no avail. “I'm sorry, Myc, you're not afraid of John.”

Mycroft released his brother and sat down on the ground beside him. “Much better.”

“Greg should be here by now,” the detective said, trying to regain his dignity. “Shall we do it?”

“No, little brother, stop being so impatient.”

“But Myc-”

“It's only the 30th, 'Lock, there's still two days!”

“So?”

“It's not considered an April fools, if you do it in March.”

“Boring.”

Mycroft chuckled. “We'll get away with it... If we do it the day we're supposed to.”

Sherlock sighed, “Fine.”

“However, you were correct about Gregory being here.” Mycroft stood and walked back towards the house.

“That's it!” Sherlock yelled after him. “Go and snog your boyfriend.”

Mycroft tossed back over his shoulder, “That's an excellent suggestion. I will.”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at the back of his brother's head, then he broke out into a trot to catch up. If Greg were here, his own boyfriend wouldn't be far behind. “But hold on Myc, my boyfriend will be here too.”

Mycroft paused waiting for his younger brother to catch him up. “Your point?”

“Well, it may be a bit scary for you…”

Mycroft gave a shout and broke out chasing his brother once again.

Greg had wandered around to the backyard. He stood watching the brothers' antics with amusement, wondering what caused it.

“Sherlock?” Came a yell, but neither of the Holmes' heard it.

“Round here, John,” Greg called.

The doctor walked over and joined him. “What's up with them?” he asked pointing to the brothers.

“No idea, but it's kind of cute.”

The DI dropped onto the bench looking out over the lawn. John sank down next to him. “It is kind of cute, you're right.”

The brothers stopped scuffling when Sherlock spotted the two men on the bench. He grinned sheepishly, but Mycroft blushed. Greg could see it from where he was sat. “Don't stop on our account,” the DI told his boyfriend as he approached. He gave him a hug. “I missed you.”

“You wanted to work rather than stay with me,” Mycroft pouted and it was adorable.

Greg ruffled his hair like he was a toddler. “I had to, babe, but you know that.”

“Boys!” Came a yell from behind the four of them.

Sherlock sighed as his mother was waving them in. John grabbed his hand as he tried to sneak off in the direction of the shed.

“But-” Sherlock began.

“But nothing, 'Lock.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his lover's waist. “She'll make us do tea and biscuits.”

“Good. You're too skinny anyway.” John kissed him on the cheek.

Sherlock blew a raspberry in response. “I'm not too skinny. I'm too tall.”

John laughed. “Too true.”

“Boys! Come on, Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, you are both filthy!”

The brothers shared a glance and then looked down at their suits, they were covered in mud.

“Have you been fighting?” she asked.

Sherlock gave his mother a cheeky grin. “Define 'fighting'.”

She snapped a tea towel at him. “Don't get smart with me, young man.”

“But I am smart. Very smart.”

This time she clocked him on the back of the head as he walked through into the kitchen.

“I'm smarter,” Mycroft argued, closing the door behind them.

Mrs. Holmes pointed a finger at him. “I heard that, Myc.”

He sighed. “It's Mycroft, Mummy. You know, the name you gave me?”

“It was your father's choice, Myc, you know that.”

“Why did he get a normal name?” The government official pointed at his little brother who was now sat on John's lap at the kitchen table.

John snorted. “Right. There are so very many Sherlock’s in the world.”

“Not that name, John. I was referring to William.”

The doctor grinned. “Ah, ickle Billy.”

“Ickle Willy, more like,” Mycroft grumbled settling himself on Greg's lap with a groan.

The DI ducked his head to hide his laugh. “You're ridiculous, Babe,” he whispered into his boyfriend's ear.

“Ridiculous isn't the word I would use, Gregory,” Mrs. Holmes said smacking the back of her eldest’s head.

“Is it pick on Myc day?” Mr. Holmes asked, joining them.

Sherlock was sat sniggering, barely containing himself.

“Oh, dad, not you too.” Mycroft dropped his head to his hands.

“Not me too, what, son?” He asked, sniffing the air for the source of the fantastic smell.

“Myc! You called me Mycroft!”

Mr. Holmes shrugged. “Blame your mother. She named you.”

“That's not what she said,” Mycroft objected.

Now Greg and John were joining the youngest Holmes in his sniggering.

Mycroft just shook his head and silently ground his hip into the DI's crotch.

“Myc,” Greg growled, not sure if it was a complaint or a thank you.

The government official scowled. “Not funny, Gregory.”

Sherlock doubled over in laughter, delighted. “Good one, Geoff.”

“It's Gregory!”

“No, actually,” the DI pinched Mycroft's arse. “It's Greg.”

Mrs. Holmes looked between them.

“Boys, get to your own chairs now, cakes are done.”

Mr. Holmes almost skipped to the oven and it was his turn to be clipped behind the ear. “You. Sit. Too. Setting a bad example for them.”

“Oh, believe me, Mrs. Holmes,” John said cheekily, “Sherlock does not need a bad example, he does well enough on his own.”

Mycroft settled in his own chair with a smile. The teasing had shifted to his brother which was quite satisfactory. “John's absolutely correct. I don't know why the good doctor puts up with him.”

Mycroft had given his little brother the perfect ammunition. “That's it, Mycie, you make sure you don't offend John, he might come after you with his scalpel.”

John's eyebrows rose to his hairline. “My scalpel?”

“Mycie thinks you're scary,” Sherlock explained as he ducked the napkin that was tossed his way.

“The actual British Government is afraid of me?”

Sherlock nodded, a wry grin on his face.

“To be honest, 'Lock, you can't really do much damage with a scalpel… at least not by accident.”

“I don't think it's accidents that he's worried about.”

Greg chimed in, “You are a BAMF, John.”

The doctor looked puzzled. “A what?”

The DI leant over and whispered in his ear, “A bad ass mother fucker. At least that's what my kids say.”

A tray of tea stuff was placed on the table, biscuits alongside it.

“I haven't met your kids,” John said, confused.

“No but they've met Sherlock.”

“And?”

“Your pet detective has a habit of talking about you a lot.”

“Really?” John looked at his boyfriend in surprise. “I can't imagine he says anything nice. He thinks I'm an idiot.” The doctor had softened his words with a smile.

“Oh, you should hear him.” Greg grinned. “He talks about brave Captain Watson, army surgeon, master of arms, defender of the weak. You're a right comic book hero.”

Sherlock tried to move to his own chair like his mother had told him to but John wouldn't let him, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“I don't understand why he can verbally slander me and get hugged for it,” Mycroft grumped.

Greg kissed his boyfriend's hand. “It's only slander if it isn't true.”

“You know, Mycroft, I believe your little brother is equalling your intelligence these days,” Siger commented.

“But not yours, father,” Mycroft assured him.

“Of course not, son, maybe one day.”

John smacked Sherlock's bum, “My legs are going numb.”

The detective pouted. “John-”

“Up.”

Sherlock moved reluctantly to his own chair. He wiggled his bum, trying to get comfortable. “I'd rather sit with you.”

“On me, you mean.”

Sherlock refused to answer and leant forward to pour the tea.

After Sherlock had finished pouring, John reached out and grabbed a chocolate biscuit which he offered to him. “It's your favourite,” the doctor said as he waggled it in mid-air. When Sherlock went to reach it John pulled it out of his grasp and bit it in half.

“Hey-” he cut off choking on the other half of the biscuit as it was shoved in his mouth.

Greg held out a biscuit to Mycroft. The government official rolled his eyes and reached for his own.

“I'm not as gullible as my baby brother, Gregory.”

The DI laughed. “You need to learn to be more trusting, Babe.”

The British Government frowned. “Where would be the fun in that?”

Greg leant in to whisper in his ear, “The bedroom.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered back, “you're a terrible tease.”

“Myc, no whispering. It's rude,” Mrs. Holmes admonished.

“Would you prefer I repeat what he said out loud?” Mycroft offered.

The DI suddenly went bright red.

“I'll be happy to tell everyone what he said. It wa... mph.” John clamped his hand over Sherlock's mouth, cutting him off. He smiled smugly, using his free hand to sip his tea.

“Eww!” the doctor yelped.

As John removed his hand it was clear why he was rubbing it on Sherlock's trousers. The detective's tongue was peeking out, just slightly.

Mrs. Holmes ducked her head to hide her smile. It was nice to see her boys acting like boys again instead of automatons and she wasn't about to say anything to stop it.

Sherlock was caught off guard when John used his finger to poke his tongue back in his mouth. The smirk turned into a pout until John pressed the detective's tea into his hand. Sherlock sipped it contentedly, making a little humming sound of pleasure. He was actually enjoying this visit to his parents, though he would never admit it.

“So, 'Lock,” Mr. Holmes started, “what mischief have you been up to lately?”

“He snuck into my office and stapled all the reports to my desk,” Mycroft offered.

Sherlock's head snapped up to look at his brother, he wanted to look innocent, but the look the older Holmes was sending his way was making it increasingly difficult to not laugh.

John didn't feel the need to restrain himself, he burst out in a fit of giggles.

“John,” Mycroft complained, “you're not meant to encourage him with your laughter.”

Now, Sherlock started giggling. “It was John's idea in the first place.” Sherlock couldn't duck quick enough to avoid the smack on the back of his head.

Mycroft was gaping at the pair of them trying to decide how truthful his little brother was being.

Greg started chuckling. “I didn't know you'd actually pulled it off.”

“Gregory! You knew about this plot?”

The DI threw his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders, still chuckling. “I wish I could have seen your face!”

Sherlock routed through his pockets. Finally locating his phone, he skipped a few apps and brought up his videos. “You're not the only one who has surveillance on their brother,” he said, no longer holding in his laughter. He passed his phone to Greg, the video of Mycroft entering his office showing.

Suddenly, Mycroft felt that much more determined to pull one over on Greg and John, but now he had to devise something to do to his brother as well.

“I wouldn't worry that your little brother is going to continue with these antics.”

“And why not, Gregory?”

“Because we kind of blackmailed him into it.”

“How?”

“Hey!” Sherlock interrupted. “They can't tell, that's against the idea of blackmail.”

So Sherlock was mostly innocent… for once. He could not wait, two days from now and they would regret it.

How John and Greg could miss the wicked nature of his brother's smile, Sherlock couldn't understand. Mr. Holmes caught his youngest son's eye and winked. He hadn't missed Mycroft's devious smile.

***

Sherlock's eyes snapped open at 4am. He rolled over to see that John was completely out of it. He snatched his phone off the side unit as it began buzzing. It was a text from his brother. He grinned. It was finally time to put their plan into action. Sherlock slid quietly from the bed, pausing once when John rolled over and snorted, then padded from the room.

Mycroft was waiting for him in the hall.

“You know this would have been okay for you to do this in your pyjamas, Myc,” Sherlock pointed out. The British Government already looked like the British Government, wide eyed and fully dressed in one of his three piece suits.

The older brother shrugged, “I try and avoid things that give you blackmail material.”

All around him on the floor were the things they'd need to put their plan into action. Sherlock bent and picked up the bucket of paint tins. They could get Greg's surprise set up first. “You haven't changed your mind, have you, big brother?”

“Oh, no. Not after learning their part in the staple incident. This, brother-mine, is karma.”

Sherlock grinned. “And the first April fools I've ever participated in.”

“Which I am mightily surprised about.”

The younger Holmes shrugged as he tiptoed to the room his brother and Greg shared. He cracked open the door, holding his breath, but the DI didn't stir.

“He could sleep through an explosion,” Mycroft stated quietly.

“Does that not worry you?”

Mycroft smiled sadly at Sherlock's immediate sentiment. “Usually, yes. But right now, we couldn't ask for anything better, could we?”

“Suppose not,” he whispered back. “How many colours have you got?”

“Of paint?” At his nod, Mycroft continued. “Dad only had 4 tins in the shed.”

The brother's worked together to rig the trap. It was the first time they had willingly worked as a team in years. It didn't take long at all. They slipped from the room and broke into quite sniggers in the hall.

Mycroft dragged his brother into the closet as the door up the hall opened.

“Boys?” Came a loud whisper.

“Mummy?” Sherlock's voice only just reached the older man. His nod was clear even in the dark, he held a finger to his lips.

They waited for the bathroom door to shut and then open again before they heard their parents’ bedroom door close once more.

“Do you have the Mentos?”

In answer, Mycroft drew two rolls of the sweets from his suit pocket. Sherlock grinned, then picked up as many of the Coke bottles as he could carry. They arranged them in different parts of the room, attaching them together in a way that would not be missed when John got out of bed. He would trigger the trap, without fail.

Back out in the hallway, Sherlock whispered, “You got the cameras in place, correct?”

“Oh, yes. We'll be able to watch the whole thing play out on my laptop. Shall we?”

Together the pair retreated to a nearby guest room that was unused at the moment to wait.

“Myc, it's not even 6,” Sherlock nodded at the clock ticking quietly to itself on the wall.

“Food?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Waffles.”

Mycroft brought his laptop with them just in case. He wasn't about to risk missing either Greg or John waking up to their surprises.

They settled on the kitchen table and Sherlock pulled out every food item which could count as breakfast from the cupboards. They were lucky the kitchen was so far from the other rooms, they could make as much noise as they liked and, even with the light sleeper that their father was, they'd never be heard.

Mycroft was relegated to cooking everything that wasn't a waffle. Cooking those was a task Sherlock hoarded as his own, had done since he was old enough to use a waffle iron. “Do you want chocolate chips or berries in your waffles, Myc?”

Mycroft raised an amused eyebrow. “Since we've been acting like kids for a few hours so far, we may as well carry on.”

“Both, then?”

“Yes, both. And don't hold back on either.”

Sherlock finished mixing the batter and poured the first waffle. He closed the waffle iron and watched as steam began seeping out around the edges. “I didn't see any chocolate sauce,” he complained.

“You looked in the wrong place.” Mycroft set a bottle of sauce on the counter next to Sherlock's elbow.

At Sherlock's confused look Mycroft barked out a laugh. “Mummy always has everything we may need to ensure you eat.”

“The lot of you are overly obsessed with my dietary habits. I managed to survive this long without actually starving to death.”

“Sherlock you've never actually lived alone.”

“I did at Cambridge.”

“For 3 weeks, before I made you move in with me. And then you moved out and in with John. That is why you haven't starved to death.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the truth of his brother's statement. The light blinked out on the waffle iron, indicating the waffle was done. He opened it and snatched a piece of the waffle in his fingers, then popped it into his mouth. It was hot! He did a little dance as he tried to breathe in around the mouthful.

“That is also why you can't live alone.” Mycroft used a knife to scoop the waffle out. “You have absolutely no sense of self preservation.”

“I do though,” Sherlock protested with his burnt tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Mycroft chuckled and fetched his brother a piece of ice to suck on. He immediately bit it, the chunk crumbling between his teeth. Mycroft sighed and fetched another one. “Suck on it, you moron.”

Sherlock grinned, “Greg's having a great impact on you, brother dear.”

At 7am footsteps on the stairs without yelling told the brothers that their parents were coming down, if they just stayed silent they would not need to know they were there. The front door opened and closed. “That teasmade you bought Mummy for Christmas was a great idea Myc, they never need to come in here in the morning anymore.”

Mycroft nodded, “All part of my plan, little brother.”

There was crackling on the screen of Mycroft's laptop and the brothers fell into the seats to watch, waffles and every other breakfast food with them. The camera feed showing Greg was on the left side of the screen. John's was on the right.

The DI rolled over, reaching for his boyfriend who wasn't there. He cracked his eyes open and sat up. When the paint came pouring down on him, he let out a yell of outrage, “Sherlock!” He got shakily to his feet, slipping and sliding a bit, when he tripped the next piece of string and yet another tin tipped over above him.

Downstairs, the brothers were laughing. The youngest wasn't even upset that he was getting all the blame. They laughed so hard that it hurt.

At Greg's next shout, John bolted upright in his bed, triggering the first Mentos fountain. John's reaction was even funnier, he tried hiding under the covers, no idea that it had only been two bottles going off out of the ten of them. When they seemed to subside a little he carefully removed the sheet from over his head and stood up, setting off the next round. “Bloody buggering... Sherlock Holmes!” John stumbled forward setting off another fountain, then another. Finally he just stood there, arms at his side and waited for the chaos to subside. He looked like a drowned cat. When he finally made it to the door he'd set off two more bottles. As he swung the door in, Greg was doing the same opposite.

“Yours gone too?”

At Greg's grumbled yes, John clenched his fists.

“Bloody, fucking, Holmeses.” John raised his voice and shouted as he charged down the stairs, “Sherlock, Mycroft, don't you dare think of running away.”

Mycroft slammed the laptop shut, “What do we do?”

“We didn't think this part through, did we?”

Mycroft shook his head and then dropped his face in his hand. “And we're supposed to be clever.”

“Okay, well, we'll go that way through the house to get to the door, John will come in that way and then we should have enough time to get out and run.”

The older brother nodded, he shoved his laptop under his arm and took off after Sherlock.

The detective had been wrong however, John had double guessed them and he was waiting. He grabbed them both by the scruff of their necks. Sherlock grunted when his bum hit the surface of his chair. Mycroft did likewise.

“John,” the government official tried, “April Fools is a-”

“Shut it!” John snapped.

“But-” John pinched Mycroft's ear between his fingers and tilted his head at a painful angle. “Alright,” he grumbled holding his hands out in an attempt to placate the doctor.

“You are going to be so glad your parents are not here.”

Sherlock sank down in his chair, trying to make himself smaller. John didn't typically yell at him when he looked helpless. It didn't work.

Greg appeared at the door. He'd taken off his multi-coloured pyjamas and replaced them with Mycroft's dressing gown to make a point, his hair was still covered in paint. The brothers couldn't help but laugh at the new arrival, this reaction did not impress the doctor. Not at all.

John crossed his arms. “Whose brilliant idea was it anyway?” The brothers pointed at one another. “Of course. Why am I not surprised?” He started circling around the pair where they were sat, their chairs pulled well back from the table. He stopped, facing them. John was 5'6” of unmitigated fury.

“John-”

“Stop right there, Sherlock!” John barked pointing at him. The detective flinched back, which the doctor was glad to see.

“You need to see that-”

“Shut it, Mycroft!”

Greg bit his lip, admiring how John was consistently shutting the Holmes brothers down. He wondered how far the doctor could push them. He had the fantastic feeling that he was going to find out.

“I'll ask again, and don't you dare pull the trick you've just tried. Who came up with it?”

Sherlock bowed his head downwards. John stepped forward and actually grabbed him by the curls tugging his head back.

“I only came up with the mentos, John, honest.”

Greg shifted from foot to foot, a low current of something passing through him. He didn't want to examine it too closely.

John grabbed Mycroft's ear with his free hand. “So you're responsible for the paint.”

The older man tried to nod but found he couldn't manage it.

“Try a verbal response.”

“Yes, John.”

“I'm disappointed in you, Mycroft. I thought you, at least, had good sense.”

“It's April fools day-”

“No! I don't care for excuses. What shall we do with them, Greg?” The doctor asked, still holding Sherlock by the curls and Mycroft by the ear. The brothers were surprisingly quiet and subdued for a change.

The DI stood, his hands stuffed into the pockets of Mycroft's dressing gown in an attempt to hide his arousal. Luckily for him, the brothers were completely distracted by one John Watson.

The doctor pulled Sherlock and Mycroft to their feet without releasing his hold on either hair or ear. He shoved his boyfriend into one corner of the room and the government official into another. Surprisingly, the DI wasn't shocked to see the pair of them tense up in their individual corners, but apart from that not move at all.

John turned back to the multi-coloured man. “Well, mate?”

Greg squawked, flushed red and ran from the room.

Puzzled, the doctor went to the door and looked in the direction he had fled. “Greg?”

The DI paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning around, feeling much like the brothers no doubt felt. “Nothing. I was just going for a shower.”

“What shall I do with those two?”

Greg's voice sounded strained when he answered. “I don't think I want to know.”

“But-”

“I really, really need a shower.” Greg fidgeted. “Do whatever you think is best.”

John watched him with a frown, determined to use this to his advantage and make the two brats feel guilty, more so if they did already. As he walked back into the kitchen he found the brothers hadn't moved an inch, shoulders still hunched as if it would protect them.

“Well, I hope you're pleased with yourselves. Greg is obviously quite upset.”

Sherlock snorted. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” John barked. “What do you mean, wrong? He's covered in paint and pissed off. Which I am, just be glad it wasn't me covered in the paint.”

“Sherlock, do kindly shut it,” Mycroft warned before he opened his mouth. “He's my boyfriend. I'll not have you embarrassing him.”

“I would think you'd have a problem with the situation,” Sherlock countered.

“He won't act on it, brother-mine.”

“Both of you, shut up,” John snapped. The brothers flinched. “You can both wait there until Greg is ready and then I'll think of something suitable to do with the pair of you. Now stay where you are.” He moved over to the kettle, he needed tea of his own, but he wouldn't shower himself until after dealing with them.

Upstairs, Greg had a furious wank. The whole time, he pictured the Holmes brothers being put in their place by one very domineering ex-army doctor. He managed to straighten himself out and throw on a shirt and a pair of trousers. When he made his way back into the kitchen, John, still covered in Coke was sat as if nothing was wrong with a cup of tea, a few slices of toast and the paper, completely ignoring the brats in opposing corners.

“I thought you'd have them sorted by now.” Actually, Greg had been counting on it. He sat and pulled his chair up close to the table in case his earlier predicament repeated itself.

John finished the last of his tea and placed it on the table. “I was waiting on you. I reckon first thing's first. They can clean up their mess and we'll go from there.”

Sherlock spun around immediately. “But that's-”

“What? Mean? Selfish? Boring?”

Sherlock sighed. “No. Well yes, but no.”

Mycroft turned back to face the room. “Stop talking, baby brother.”

John glanced at Greg, doing a double take. The DI still had paint in his hair. “You still look like a rainbow, Greg.”

“What!?” The DI's hand flew to his hair. “Fucking hell.”

The Holmeses also did a double take and then burst out laughing.

“Silence!” John barked, pure army captain in his tone.

Greg dropped his head to the table with a thunk. “God help me.”

John gave the DI a strange look. “You alright, mate?”

Greg waved his hand in the air. “I'm fine. Carry on.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” John growled. “Go!” He added pointing towards the stairs.

“But-” Sherlock tried.

“Now, Sherlock!”

Sighing, the detective huffed after his older brother.

As soon as they were safely up the stairs, John dropped into a chair and giggled. His anger had been completely dissipated by the brothers' meek departure. “They are incorrigible.”

The DI was looking between the doctor and the door and then back again. “How do you do that?”

“Hmm?”

“You just made Sherlock and Mycroft- You put them in their places. Nobody can do that. Nobody. But you did.” Greg shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, paint and all. “It was positively amazing.”

“Greg, you're covered in paint, I'm covered in Coke, if it wasn't so early in the morning I'd be laughing.”

“But you made them-”

“Oh I wouldn't tell them that. They can be our slaves for the day to make up for it.”

“Now you're being manipulative,” the DI said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, I am and I'm proud of it.” He reached over and snagged a bite of Sherlock's neglected, cold waffle. “And they can start be cooking us breakfast.” John grinned. “You know they are never going to do anything related to April fools ever again by the time we're through with the pair of them.”

Greg ran his hand through his multi-coloured hair again, almost instinctively. “One thing they can do is get this paint off of me. And without shaving my head, thank you very much.”

“I really wouldn't make them do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because they'll probably use Sherlock's chemistry set.”

“I am not going out in public looking like this.”

John laughed. “Let's see if we can find some paint thinner and take care of it before Sherlock tries to.”

***

“How long do you reckon they'll be up there?” Greg asked a couple hours later. They still hadn't had any breakfast, but at least the paint had gone.

“I was expecting them to be done by now.”

The doctor headed off in the direction of the stairs, but when he reached the top he found both bedrooms exactly how they had been when the two men left them. John felt his anger bubbling up inside him again.

“Sherlock Holmes! Mycroft Holmes! You had best be in Antarctica, because if you're not, I won't be responsible for my actions when I find you.”

Greg looked up from the base of the stairs at angry John. Mycroft and Sherlock were so screwed. The DI ran up them to join the younger man. “They'll be in the attic.”

“How do you know?” The doctor asked, trying to retain his temper for Greg's benefit.

“Because Mycroft told me stories of when he'd find Sherlock up there when they were little.”

“How do we get up there?”

“In my old house a hatch opened and a ladder came out but in a mansion this size? I have no idea.”

The two men wandered around, but didn't find a hatch. Finally they started opening random doors. Behind one was a stairway leading upwards. Greg grinned at John in triumph.

The attic was enormous. There were trunks and boxes everywhere, providing plenty of places for the brothers to hide.

“You might as well surrender now,” Greg called into the open space. “If you do, John may go easy on you.”

John was silently shaking his head. Not a hope in hell was he going easy. His arms folded across his chest told the DI that.

In the far corner the brothers shared glances and then Mycroft tilted his head leaving the decision up to Sherlock.

“Alright,” Sherlock called out, he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and appeared from behind a set of boxes.

John didn't move, just glared at his boyfriend. “Come over here.”

With a glance back at his brother, Sherlock edged his way towards John, stopping just out of reach.

“Closer.”

The detective took one more step nearer. John's hand snaked out and grabbed Sherlock by the curls.

The doctor called out, “Mycroft, you next.”

Sherlock struggled slightly, it didn't take much for John to shift his grip, one arm up his back and the other twisted awkwardly behind his head. The detective shot a hopeful look at Greg, but he seemed just as angry as John was. Despite the pair's anger, it had been totally worth it. Even as he watched his brother appearing rather sheepish out of the corner of his eye.

Mycroft stopped just out of arms reach of the doctor.

“Closer.”

The British Government, one of the most powerful men in Europe, shook his head mutely, terrified.

Greg rolled his eyes, took a step forward and snagged the older man's collar.

John hadn’t released Sherlock in the slightest. “What time are you parents back?”

“Tonight,” Sherlock whispered.

“Good.” He stopped him just outside their room. “Strip to your pants. I'll admire the view while you're making my breakfast.”

Sherlock's eyebrow shot up. “John-”

“Or I could give you the spanking an immature toddler like you deserves.”

“You wouldn't.”

John tightened his grip. “Try me.”

Sherlock didn't want to risk trying the doctor's patience any more, they'd probably expired it hiding in the attic for so long, so he took off his clothes, draping them over his arm.

“I'll take those.” John held out his arms for Sherlock's clothing. “You won't be needing them anyway.”

Greg bit his lip, wondering if he dared order Mycroft to do the same. He decided he did. “Your turn Myc.”

The government official, twisted around, trying to see his boyfriend. “Gregory, you can't be serious.”

The DI just raised an eyebrow. “Pants only.”

“But-”

“Now Mycroft!” John yelled.

The older Holmes looked over at the doctor who had grabbed Sherlock again. He stripped down to his pants quickly.

John walked the detective down the stairs and to the kitchen. Greg followed, towing Mycroft behind him by the hand.

“I'm a very hungry, very irritated man, Sherlock. It's up to you and Mycroft to rectify that situation.”

The detective nodded, he stood awkwardly, rather shy in only his pants.

John gave his arse a pat and pushed him towards the unit. “Food. And lots of it.”

Sherlock frowned at the counter, a little bit confused by John's behaviour. He didn't start moving until his brother stepped up next to him.

“You were correct, 'Lock,” Mycroft said, “I do find John terrifying.”

The detective actually let out a nervous chuckle. He picked up the bowl he'd used for the batter earlier and set about mixing up some more waffle mixture.

Greg finally started to relax, so he pushed back from the table slightly to watch the men work. “Oi, Myc. Do you know how to make French toast?”

He nodded.

“Speak!” John ordered. The two men sitting down were pleased to see Mycroft tense.

“Yes, Gregory.”

“Two slices of that and waffles and coffee. Lots of coffee.”

The DI pulled another chair around and propped his feet up on it. He stretched out, enjoying the show. “I'll take mine black, thank you Mycroft.”

The elder Holmes brother snorted, of course he knew how Greg took his coffee. Greg cleared his throat and Mycroft went back to the task of his breakfast.

Sherlock was in the middle of pouring the batter onto the iron when he leant over to whisper something in his older brother's ear. Mycroft glanced over his shoulder at the other two men. “Not a chance.” He shook his head to emphasise his words. Mycroft wasn't about to risk upsetting John further.

Sherlock blew a raspberry, “You've got no sense of adventure!”

“I did and that's what got us into this mess!”

John regarded them with crossed arms. “That's enough chit chat, gentlemen. I'm waiting on my coffee.”

Sherlock shot him a look. “It does have to brew, you realise. Unless you want instant.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said hurriedly. He moved to the coffee machine trying to hurry it up with the power of thought alone.

It didn't work.

“Sherlock, the waffles are burning,” John informed him casually.

The detective spun around and lunged for the waffle iron, but smoke was pouring out of it in waves. He punched his fist down onto the counter. “This is ridiculous!”

“So is getting covered in coke at 7 o'clock in the morning!” John countered.

Suddenly Greg got an idea. He leaned over and picked up the squirt bottle of chocolate sauce. Waving it at John, he raised a brow in question. At the doctor's nod, the DI called out, “Mycroft, Sherlock.” The two men turned around only to receive direct shots of sauce to their faces.

Both brothers just closed their eyes and took it.

“Done?” Mycroft asked when the bottle squelched to emptiness.

“Not by a long shot. Me. Coffee. Now,” Greg ordered.

Mycroft wiped his face with a tea towel then fetched two cups and made coffee. He set the cups of coffee in front of the two, not goldfish, piranha.

Sherlock had scrapped the other waffle and had finally made two that were satisfactory. He placed them on the table just as Mycroft placed the DI's toast down too.

“Now what do we do with them?” Greg asked.

John looked around the room. “They might as well clean while we eat.” He waved a hand in the air. “Get to it.”

They nodded and moved about to clean up, not even bothering to argue with the doctor anymore. They did kind of deserve it.

When Greg had eaten his fill, he pushed back from the table. “I hate to bring it up, but our rooms are still completely wrecked.”

“They can clean those too,” John commented. “But we'll clearly have to stand guard.”

The brothers shared glances and sighed. The detective threw the cloth he had been using at Mycroft.

“Oi!” Greg yelled.

“Pack it in, the pair of you!” John snapped.

“You know, John, a nice massage wouldn't go amiss after these two troublemakers have cleaned up our rooms.”

“A massage sounds perfect. And they've certainly got the hands for it,” John agreed. The doctor stood along with the DI.

Greg grinned. “And they can serve double duty as bartenders.”

Once again they glanced at one another. At least until John reached out and pinched Sherlock's ear in between his fingers. He tugged the youngest of the four towards the stairs, the brunet flailing and trying to hold onto John's hand instead. The doctor ignored his boyfriend's flailing hand and steered his towards their bedroom. When they entered, Sherlock froze. The place really was a mess. Still, Mycroft's room had to be in worse shape.

“Go on then,” John said almost too kindly as he pushed him into the room. “You can use the stuff in the ensuite, that way I know you can't do a runner.” He collapsed into a chair, one that was surprising dry given the circumstances.

From right next door, Greg could be heard telling Mycroft much the same thing. Unfortunately, it looked like the government official would be paying to remodel the room, as splattered paint had dried everywhere.

Wait... John grinned at hearing Greg's next words.

“Oh, no. You'll not be getting out of it this easily. You and your brother can just plan on doing the remodelling work yourselves. It'll be good for you.”

“Did you catch that 'Lock?” John called.

The detective reappeared from the bathroom, carrying some cleaning equipment.

“Hear what?” He grumbled.

“No need to be rude, Babe.” He glanced across the hall at Greg.

The DI raised a hand and waved, clearly enjoying himself. He was starting to get the hang of Holmes management.

Sherlock stripped the bed and started to head from the room.

“Where do you think you're going?” John asked, standing up.

“To do the laundry, obviously.”

“Do you know where the washing machine is?”

“No… but I'll find it.”

“No, you won't.” The doctor took the sheets from him and put them the other side of the door. “That's the last thing you'll be doing.”

Sherlock huffed, his escape had been effectively thwarted. He turned, kicked at a neaby ottoman and fetched a damp, soapy cloth. It seemed like hours had passed before he had wiped down all of the furniture in the room.

“Greg, do you want to make yours get more coffee?”

“I can-” Sherlock cut off from where he was on his knees in the corner, trying to wipe down the bookshelf. One glare did a lot to a Holmes from an ex-army captain.

“I'll go with him,” the DI said with a nod.

That left John alone with a sulking Sherlock. “You know, a cheerful attitude would go a long way towards earning your forgiveness.”

The detective huffed. “But it's cleaning, John. It's boring.”

The doctor folded his arms, content on taking no nonsense. “Do I need to-”

“No!” Sherlock said hurriedly. “No. I'm sorry.”

John's head tilted on his side. “You can have a five minute break. Come here.” The detective looked at him warily, but shuffled near. John pulled him down onto his lap and hugged him. “Mentos fountains.” He chuckled to himself. The whole thing seemed a lot funnier now that he'd had breakfast and the room was starting to resemble its previous day's condition. “It would have been a hell of a lot more amusing if you'd let me help you do it to Mycroft.”

“I felt the need for payback.”

“Why?”

“You and Greg blackmailed me into what I did to Mycroft.”

“So… you like doing that sort of thing to your brother.”

“I guess times change. I'm not saying I dislike it, I'm just saying…” he trailed off not sure how to finish that sentence.

“I get it. You don't want to risk messing things up now that you're not sniping at each other all the time.”

“We still snipe at each other.”

John held him tight. “Not like you used to. There's no venom in it.”

There was a knock on the door and a wide eyed terrified Mycroft stood with a tray. The DI stood just behind him.

John reached out and took one of the steaming mugs from the tray. “Thanks, Myc.” His tone was casual. Somehow that made Mycroft even more nervous.

Sherlock grinned and then found himself in a pile on the floor. He looked up indignantly. John passed down a mug.

“My little pet can stay on the floor.”

Sherlock scowled, it made Mycroft lighten up a little though.

Greg sat on the bed after ascertaining that it hadn't been soaked. The bedding had taken the brunt of the Mentos fountains so it looked like the mattress was salvageable. He patted the space beside him. “Have a seat, Myc.”

As Mycroft made his way passed John, he stayed wary and decided than rather sit next to Greg he'd sit next to his little brother on the floor, it would save being shoved down there in a moment.

Greg grinned down at Mycroft. “Have you two learned your lesson?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered immediately, “don't get caught.”

John leant forward and clipped him on the back of the head.

The DI immediately felt a twinge in his pants. He crossed his legs, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Just because you feel you've learnt your lesson doesn't get you off,” John warned.

Mycroft leant over and grabbed Sherlock by the arm. “Please kindly desist from antagonising the, what was it Gregory called him, the BAMFy doctor.”

John snorted into his coffee. “Yes, I am a BAMF and don't you forget it, Mycroft Holmes. So,” he leaned back, “when do you plan to redecorate the other room? Soon, I should think.”

“No!” Sherlock yelled quickly.

John raised an unamused eyebrow

“I mean. Our parents will know something's up if they smell wet paint.”

“Right, and you don't think your mum will notice the rainbow paint on the furniture, walls and floor. I thought you were supposed to be a genius.” Greg shook his head laughing.

Mycroft looked at his boyfriend, a small smile playing about his mouth. “I told you, Gregory, I'm the smart one. Now you have proof.”

Sherlock's mug was placed by the chair and he lunged at his brother shoving him sideways onto the coke covered rug.

John stood and grabbed Sherlock's flailing arms, he pulled them behind his back and dragged him off his older brother.

“John,” Sherlock whinged. “Are you going to let him talk about your boyfriend like that?!”

The doctor sat back down, pulling a struggling Sherlock onto his lap. “I only beat up government officials when they slander you. You have to admit, he and Greg made a valid point. The moment your mum goes into that room to tidy up, she's going to go ballistic.”

“Maybe we can find a way to let Dad know instead?” Sherlock suggested looking down at his brother, still on the floor. He'd given up fighting, with incredibly strong arms wrapped around him.

“Won't your dad go mad?” Greg asked. “Not like the pair of you don't deserve it,” he added.

“No. He'll probably just laugh.”

“Really?” John sounded surprised.

Sherlock shrugged. “He knew we were up to something, anyway. He just didn't know what.”

“Holmses. You whole lot are nutters.” Greg sounded oddly awed at the idea.

“Does that mean we can-”

“Nope!” He pushed Sherlock off his lap again, this time ensuring he stayed upright. “Get back to it.”

“You too,” Greg added to his Holmes.

Sherlock looked down at the coke stained rug. “Hoovering won't help that. What do I do?”

John looked at his boyfriend with amused affection. “Unless your parents have a steam cleaner, you'll have to wash it by hand.”

“Boring.”

“I don't give a shit if it's boring. This room will look the same as it was when your parents left this morning. And therefore your brother will be responsible for the mess in his own room when your mother finds out.”

“Fine, but I liked it better when I was sitting on your lap.” Sherlock got some wet cloths and started working on the stains.

The doctor watched him work, making sure not to let the detective see him smile. He much preferred having Sherlock on his lap as well.


End file.
